


Desperate

by phidari



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, Codependency, Human/Yeerk Romance, M/M, Other, POV First Person, Post-War, Treat, Voluntary Controllers, Yeerks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 06:11:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9706796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phidari/pseuds/phidari
Summary: The war was over. Illim 904 was taken from me.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Poetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetry/gifts).



> _Tidwell and Illim._ Yes, yes, yes, yes. I saw your prompt and I instantly sat down to re-read _The Sickness._ Happy Valentine's Day!

The war was over. Illim 904 was taken from me.

Yeerk-retrieval stations had been set up across the country. Illim had no choice but to leave. The Yeerk Pool had been destroyed—it was either this or starvation. And that moment when he left my mind and slithered out of my ear for what I feared would be the final time—it might sound ridiculous, but my stomach twisted up and my chest ached as much as it had when the hospital called to tell me she hadn't made it.

I'm not proud of what I did after that. I actually argued with the soldiers manning the retrieval station. When I protested that I was voluntary, the human soldiers sneered and, although I'm no expert on Andalite facial expressions, I'm sure the Andalite warriors were as well.

After all those years, after all that Illim had done for me, they told me I was free.

But really? I was _empty_.

  

I was no longer a voluntary Controller, no longer privy to the inner workings of the Yeerk Empire or the Yeerk Peace Movement. I found out from the _evening news_ that the captive Yeerks were given a choice: They could either go back to their homeworld and never take another host, or they could receive the Andalite morphing power and acquire a morph—only one morph, and they could never demorph.

The news then segued into an explanation of morphing, though I doubted there was a single human left who hadn't heard of it, and an explanation of the two-hour time limit. A good portion of the segment was devoted to the sad case of Tobias the Animorph.

There was a chance, then. I sat up straight for the first time in a week as I realized that _I could see him again;_ maybe, just maybe, if he chose to remain on Earth.

The apartment was a mess. It hadn't been this bad since before Illim. The first thing I did was clean. I washed dishes, folded clothing, vacuumed all in a frenzy, as though he could walk through the front door—or slither or fly or gallop, depending on the morph he chose—at any moment.

Of course that wasn't going to happen, so the next morning I started making phone calls. The TV station directed me to the city council, who directed me to one of our Senators, who directed me to the new Andalite embassy in Washington. Finally I got an answer, though it wasn't about Illim. The embassy's human staff—necessary since telephones couldn't transmit thought-speak—told me that volunteers were being taken to provide DNA for Yeerks who wished to morph human.

"They won't look exactly like any of the donors," the man on the phone told me. "They'll be using a, uh—it's some Andalite word, but they'll be combining the donors' DNA to make a unique morph. There's financial compensation, and—"

"Tell me what I need to do." I didn't care about the money. I just needed to be involved. And if it meant Illim might have some trace of my DNA inside of him, well, that wasn't a bad thought at all.

  

The government paid for my travel expenses. They even put me up in a hotel close to the Andalite embassy in D.C.

"Thank you for coming all this way," the human director said to me and the dozen-odd other volunteers who were standing in a conference room inside the embassy. I guess Andalites didn't feel the need to put in chairs. "Because the acquiring process is a bit unpleasant, even with the promise of monetary compensation it's difficult to find donors. Therefore, we deeply respect each and every one of you for showing up."

"Unpleasant?" one woman repeated. She looked pale. "How so?"

I couldn't see how. After Cassie had acquired Illim, he'd described the process to me: He'd fallen into a trance, but there was no pain, and no lingering effects afterward.

"It involves physically picking up and holding a Yeerk for up to half a minute," the director replied, her nose wrinkling. "You will feel no pain, but the process must be repeated for each Yeerk who wishes to morph human. There are about five hundred of them."

Only five hundred? I frowned. "Er, will we get to know their names?"

"Names?" the director repeated.

"The Yeerks'," I clarified.

The man standing beside me lit up. "Yeah, good point," he said. "I'm just doing this for the money, but I don't want the Yeerk that was _in_ me getting any part of my genes."

That was a fair point as well. I bit my lip so as not to give myself away. I felt like I was undercover again.

"Oh, oh, right. Just a moment." The director flipped through the leaflets of paper stuck on her clipboard. "Right... Yes, I have their designations right here. I'll pass the list around the room."

If I'd been sitting, my leg would have been bouncing up and down while I waited for the list to reach me. The man beside me pored over it, scouring each Yeerk name closely. Apparently satisfied, he eventually handed it over to me and it took every fiber of willpower I had not to snatch the papers from his hands.

It was alphabetical. I skimmed past the Aftrans, the Akdors, the Deranes and Efflits and Essams. There were two Illims: Illim 3709 and Illim 524.

 _He_ wasn't here.

I was barely aware of my own motions as I passed the list along to my left. Maybe this wasn't all. Maybe they were being processed in waves, or handled in different locations. Or maybe Illim 904 didn't want to become human; maybe he would choose some other morph.

I went through with the donation process anyway. It consisted of us, the donors, standing at a long table with the Andalite embassy's human staffers working as a makeshift assembly line, bringing in small glass jars full of water containing the Yeerks who wanted to turn human. One Andalite stood in the corner of the room as sentry; I wondered why no others were here to assist. (Later I would hear rumblings about how the Andalites were uncomfortable with the whole process, that the Animorphs had demanded they grant the morphing power to these soon-to-be- _nothlit_ Yeerks.)

The other volunteers were squeamish at first, but I had held Illim before, once. When he had finally had enough of being a slaver, when he told me he was going to join the Yeerk Peace Movement and I, skeptical, had demanded he prove it. He did so by leaving my head, a show of such incredible trust that I never looked at him the same way again. I had no trouble picking up Yeerk after Yeerk, feeling the calm flow through me as each of them aqcuired my DNA. I set each one down once the trance passed, and the jar was moved along to the next donor, and I received another.

I can't help thinking of those Yeerks as connected to me. Not quite children, although biologically their eventual human morphs may as well have been the descendants of myself and those other donors. A part of me would reside in them just as a part of Illim was still, metaphorically, within me.

We were there for two hours, and about a hundred fifty Yeerks were "processed", as the staffers put it. After that we were released for the day.

"You'll receive your pay once all of the Yeerks are processed, so make sure to come back tomorrow," the director said after thanking us for our donations.

While the other donors left, I lingered behind. The director seemed surprised to see me still there. "Can I help you with something, Mr..."

"Tidwell," I replied. "Julian Tidwell. I was just wondering—are the Yeerks we're donating to the only ones who chose to morph human?"

"As far as I'm aware, yes. Why?"

At the time I would have said I was being cautious, checking to make sure the other donors were really gone; nervous about them overhearing. But I think I was really just stalling for time, unsure of how the director would react. "I was a voluntary Controller," I finally said.

Realization, mixed with disdain, flashed across her face. "Ah," was all she said.

"I was hoping to see... him. Do you have any information about the other Yeerks, the ones who chose other morphs?"

"I can look that up." She didn't look eager to do so. "But, Mr. Tidwell, I have a different suggestion. There are counselors taking former Controllers as patients—"

"I don't need therapy."

"Even if you say that, I think it would be in your best interest. A number of former Controllers are believed to be suffering from Stockholm syndr—"

"He was in the Peace Movement," I protested. "Besides, what's the worst he can do if he's not inside my head?"

She chewed on her lower lip.

"Please. I just want to see him." That wasn't _all_ I wanted. I wanted... really, I wanted the relationship we'd had before. "His name is Illim 904 of the Culat Hesh pool."

"I'll see what I can do. Come back tomorrow and I'll let you know then."

But if he was an animal, what would I do? Take him home as a housepet? The thought made me smile wryly as I left the room.

  

I got to the embassy early the next day. I was the first one there.

"Illim 904, right?" The director dug a notepad from her breast pocket and flipped through it. "I was able to find that designation on the list of Yeerks who chose to return to the homeworld."

What?! "That can't be right," I said. "Can you check again?"

"I thought you might say that, so I triple-checked just to make sure." She tried to smile at me in an apologetic way, I guess, but the sentiment didn't reach her eyes. "Will you be staying for today's donation period?"

"It depends. When is he leaving?"

"Not for a few more days. Prince Aximili wants to make sure that none of them change their minds."

"Then I'll stay for today, but can you—"

"Yes, I can get you in to the holding facility. I still think this is a terrible idea, though," she added.

I wasn't expecting her to understand, but I was glad she was willing to help me.

The other donors began to arrive. We took our spots in the assembly line, and there I stayed until the day's work was done.

  

<Director Olayinka, what is the meaning of this?>

The director stood up straight, I guess trying not to look so short next to the Andalite warriors guarding the holding facility. It didn't work very well. Even I was taller than her. "This man wants to meet with one Yeerk in particular. I don't understand his motives, in fact I think he's kind of crazy, but he's providing a valuable service as one of our _frolis_ donors so it's the least I can do for him. The area is secure, right? What's the worst that could happen?"

The two Andalites exchanged an inscrutible look, probably communicating privately. Finally one of them thought-spoke. <Very well. I will accompany you. Korfinien, remain here and stand guard.>

The other Andalite nodded. I wondered if that was a natural gesture or if they had picked up some human mannerisms, working in close contact with our kind.

You could probably use what happened next as the start of a joke: An Andalite, a site director, and a voluntary Controller walk into a room...

The holding room was made of sleek, shiny metal. While the rest of the embassy was decorated with plants, especially grass, this room had none. In the center of the room was a tall cyllindrical structure like an aboveground pool. Instantly I knew that it was a pool, just not the kind for swimming in.

The three of us ascended a flight of stairs, the steps spaced awkwardly for myself and the director but easy on the Andalite's gait. Once we reached the top, I could see the sludgy yellow water and the mass of squirming slugs just under the surface. The Yeerks here were packed much more tightly than they had been in the underground Yeerk Pool. It couldn't be comfortable.

The director knelt beside the pool, reached in, and fished out a Yeerk at random. She sneered as she lifted the Yeerk to her ear, standing so the Andalite could place his tail blade against her throat.

There _had_ to be an easier way to communicate with the Yeerks.

We three—we four, including the Yeerk temporarily inside the director's head—were silent for interminable minutes. Finally the Yeerk slithered out of her head, and she tossed it unceremoniously back into the pool and wiped her hand on her pants. "It says it will try to find Illim 904, but no promises," she told me. "Whined about the pool being too _crowded_."

<I still don't understand how you can tolerate it.> The Andalite's thought-speak was tinged with disgust.

"The government pays me _very_ well," she replied easily.

The Yeerks swimming under the surface of the pool began to cluster themselves away from the edge where we were standing. All of them except for one, which came right up toward us.

In that instant I knew. _It was him!_

The director crouched again, but I found myself grabbing her by the arm. "Let me do it."

"I don't think that's wise."

<A "voluntary" Controller,> the Andalite realized with another wave of disgust. <Come on, Director. We're leaving.>

"What do you think I'm going to do?" I held my hands out, gestured at my short, flabby human body. "He won't be any threat to you, even inside my body! Just let me—" My voice cracked, then, and I couldn't say another word without risking letting everything out. My depression after my wife's death. My inability to cope. My hatred for Illim, at first, and the way it had changed, and the way _he_ had changed! But I didn't want these strangers to hear it. There was only one person I was comfortable opening up to so deeply.

When neither of them responded, just stared at me with pity, I took matters—and Illim—into my own hands.

"Mr. Tidwell—" the director protested, and I could see the Andalite straining to keep himself from swinging his tail blade into my body— _that_ would have been a diplomatic nightmare—but I had Illim's Yeerk body at my ear before either of them could stop me.

I closed my eyes and the outside world suddenly ceased to exist. It was just me and the Yeerk pushing his way past my ear canal and into my mind.

The first thing he said to me was, <You're crazy.>

<And you're not?> I shot back. <You're going back to—>

Illim used my lungs to sigh. <Yes.>

<Why?!> I knew he could feel every bit of my desperation, and read even those thoughts that were too jumbled to put into words. He could stay on Earth, he could morph into me or hell, he could be a bird, or a whale like Aftran had chosen—

<I could, but I don't know if I really want to. If we all chose to morph, our species would become extinct.> He winced mentally, then, when my instinctive reaction was, _Does that matter?_ <I get it, I get it. Our way of life is inherently immoral—>

<I didn't mean that,> I protested.

<I know. I've been going back and forth between the two mindsets myself,> he admitted. <But let's set that aside. There's another reason I'm going home.>

<Which is?>

<The Peace Movement needs to put forth a good face for the Yeerks on the homeworld. We need to explain ourselves and persuade them to see things our way. If we don't, if we just run away...>

He didn't have to say it. <It'll all just happen again,> I realized.

<Exactly. The Andalites are policing the homeworld now,> he said, <but can that really last forever? Already some Controllers managed to escape with a Blade Ship, and there are others still out there surely planning a second uprising. If the Peace Movement can take control of the narrative on the homeworld, we can write a better ending.>

I didn't have anything to say. I couldn't form coherent sentences. My thoughts were a mess of _That makes sense_ and _but I need you_ and _will it work_ and _what if_ and _what next_.

And the worst part was, I never would have found out if I hadn't pressed the matter with Director Olayinka.

<...sorry I didn't tell you,> Illim said. <The Andalites didn't exactly give me my one phone call.>

I guessed I couldn't blame him for that.

I suddenly realized I was being spoken to.

"Mr. Tidwell?" Director Olayinka was saying. My eyes opened—I don't know by whose command—and I saw that she was waving her hand in front of my eyes.

<Get out of his head,> the Andalite sneered.

"Sorry," Illim said. "I should—"

And then I wrenched my voice back and said, "No. Let us stay like this for a while. You said they won't be leaving for a few more days, right?" I pointed out.

The director seemed faint, I guess at the idea that anyone would _choose_ this. I wondered how many Yeerks she'd had to communicate with as part of her job at the embassy, and I wondered what they were like.

<How can we know that it's really the human speaking?> the Andalite argued.

"I'd have him leave my head to prove it, but I wouldnt get the chance to put him back in if either of you had anything to say about it."

I don't know where I found the courage to stare the two of them down, but I managed it.

They led me and Illim back down the awkward staircase.

  

"You'll be escorted by an Andalite guard until the Yeerk leaves your head," Director Olayinka told me as she led me to the front lobby. Said guard was already waiting there, scuffing his hoof against the ground impatiently. "You're familiar with the three-day limit. And don't forget that the vessel back to the Yeerk homeworld leaves shortly after the DNA donation process finishes up."

"I won't," I said.

"I'll be on that vessel even if Julian tries to stop me," Illim added.

The director rolled her eyes.

<Come along,> my escort said. <I am returning you to your temporary human vacation lodging.>

"It's called a hotel!" the director called after us. "I _swear_ to god, I am putting in my two weeks right now. No more aliens!"

  

Staring out the window of a hotel room I never would have been able to afford on my teaching salary, with an Andalite standing guard at the door (inside the room with me, lest Illim forget he was there and use his dastardly Yeerk ingenuity to, I don't know, try and escape so he could slowly starve to death?) was a novel experience. But sharing my mind with Illim was not. It was the most familiar thing I could think of.

We didn't do much for the next few days. Neither Director Olayinka nor we thought it would be a good idea to tell the other donors that I had a friend along, so the donation sessions passed without incident. As the acquiring trance took me time and time again, Illim seemed wistful, almost disappointed that he couldn't join his brethren as a _nothlit_.

We ate at the hotel restaurant—<Is this a date?> Illim wondered, one-hundred-percent serious.

But mostly we just enjoyed one another's company.

I didn't have to say _I'll miss you._ Neither did he.


End file.
